All Things Considered
by MistressMine
Summary: Count Volger and Dr. Barlow consider the ramifications of their feelings for each other and whether pursuit would be wise, in a manner of speaking. Varlow.
1. A Hunter and an Aristocrat

**A/N Listen oh fandom, ye Clankers and Darwinists all, this be the first fanfiction by the humble wordsmith, and unfortunately unbeta-ed. Do be gentle. Set sometime between the events of Behemoth and Goliath or perhaps during either. No spoilers here. Count Volger's thought process on a certain boffin of note. Written in response to a challenge from a friend who liked my figurative language.**

**Leviathan and Co. (c) Westerfeld**

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**-All Things Considered-**

It was very interesting, Volger decided, as well as a little thrilling, to be on a hunt such as this—two hunters, each the other's prey. And for all the majestic creatures he had made sport of in his younger days, he had never sought after a doe like her.

Venison, like most game meat, is an acquired taste. But from the first taste of her—a formal, polite,_ politically_ _calculated_ brush of his lips to her gloved hand—he knew her breed was a rare and sweet one. Although, perhaps "sweet" was not the word. "Full-bodied" was closer to the mark, like an expensive red wine. Yes, and the metaphor was more to his taste as well. But to savor such a strong bouquet and flavor again would require the abandonment of more inhibitions than he was at liberty to dispense with. And though the Count was king in subterfuge, he was nothing but honest to himself. That simplified things. She, his would-be quarry, not only bore the marks of another hunter, the seal of another vineyard, but more importantly, the hated crest of the heathen enemy.

And yet, when they were together there was a playful, almost mocking gleam in her eyes that seemed to be daring him to something. It was the same light he saw when she spoke at length about her work and when she knew something he did not. What a dangerous game it would be, to play with that fabricated fire. There were after all other priorities, ones that could reshape maps and topple thrones as quickly as raise them. He had no time for this kind of sport, this mere, comely distraction.

But, some other part of him murmured, perhaps this was not solely sport after all. There were more ways than one to build an alliance. At the present, it was a mutual understanding and a shared cunning. Beauty was one thing, intelligence another, but cunning, true applied cunning, was a cut above the rest. It was very clear now how he had entangled himself in her invisible web of calculated allurement, and somehow hacking his way free was simply out of the question at this point. The object here was to build bridges, and hopefully not be swept away by the current beneath. Which would be no small feat as the mere thought of her sent a rushing through his veins. It was in kind to the same rush of adrenaline before a fight, before a plan reached its climax. The same thrill as before a hunt. To that extent, he was very familiar with the feeling, enjoyed it even. But on another, deeper level, the feeling was utterly foreign, an alien emotion which had a name he only deigned to state in flagrant dismissal when he recognized it in others. But of course it was foolish to fear the unknown, and foolishness would never be tolerated.

And it was not foolishness to do everything in his power to garner favor with the "enemy", so long as it would be beneficial later on.

Yes, all things considered, perhaps one more formal, polite, _gallant_ kiss on the hand would not hurt.

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**A/N You like Varlow? So do I. Review and more will follow, though I know my threats are hollow. Also, I'd like to know what you all thought about the hunting/wine imagery. We know from the canon that Volger hunted frequently with Alek's father, and that he enjoys a good drink (bonus chapter, oh my) and so I thought it apropos to use those as my main figures. Still, I had one friend say it was a little confusing but then again, she hasn't read the books...**


	2. A Boffin and a Lady

**A/N And now Dr. Barlow's side of the game of glances...**

**Also, thanks a million to nenya61192 for giving me my first review ever!**

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_Most intriguing_, Dr. Barlow mused. A boffin, just as every other scientist, spent long hours in observation and research before and after forming a theory. But these last weeks of study had produced only one observation of note: that the ship's resident Clanker Count was a singular opponent indeed.

Though at the time she had considered his swift kiss on her hand a mere formality, a trifle, she now knew it to have been the opening gambit in a much larger game, a sort of cat-and-mouse where the dominant species kept changing. And how extremely discourteous of him, not to give her the first move. Still, she had to admit that it was oddly refreshing it was to have someone aboard on par with her. True, her first impression of the man had not been a flattering one. For all his obvious wit and intelligence, his freely given contempt had ruffled her in a way she was fond of ruffling others, most ungentlemanly. She expected better of one who so prided himself on his blue blood. But then, that was the case with most aristocrats, after all. Noses held sky-high with little more true gentility than a hippoesque or one of those dreadful walkers.

Most Clanker machines had a terribly graceless way about them, all heavy metal and utilitarian purpose. By extension, their operators seemed to possess many of the same qualities, a blunt sort of ham-fisted latent hostility with no eye for detail or beauty of any kind, certainly not in nature. But he, she knew, knew better. There was nothing blunt about him, not his mind, not his face, and certainly not his sword.

She had had the occasion to see it put to use, if only in the training of others. Such weapons were, she supposed, comparatively obsolete next to both machines and fabrications, but she found that neither could match it for the sheer skill it took to wield. Perhaps one could be taught to use it, but never like him. That kind of refined prowess took inherent talent, a rare thing to be sure. When put to task, every thread of him became a tool for speed and precision and purpose, and, unlike the machines of his people, fluid and deadly elegant. And for that, she admired him. _Fencing master indeed_, she thought, and very suddenly wondered just when it was she had begun to admire the man, this haughty, conniving, taciturn, _clever_ man.

Her admiration was not easily won and he was, though perhaps only technically, the enemy after all. There was of course, the very conspicuous fact of his cunning, something they shared. But there was also the somewhat less conspicuous fact of his interest in her. No fool, she had noticed it immediately. The lingering, searching gaze he set on her when they spoke in the comfort of their unlikely alliance was very telling. It picked her apart, questioning even as he smiled at her in spite of himself. Oh, when had cups of tea and conversation turned into a sparing match of "polite" gestures and double entendre? And he had started it. She snorted. _Point, Ernst Volger._ But she did enjoy their little meetings. Good company was good company, regardless of crest and creed. And Darwin be damned if she would let that man raise his oh so aristocratic eyebrows in triumph again. Two could play at this game.

Yes, all things considered, one more cup of tea with a fascinating subject would be very nice indeed.

_Fin_

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**A/N Alright, I'll be honest, Dr. Barlow just didn't feel like using tortured metaphors and went with a more clinical, scientific approach I suppose. Makes sense. Although, in my opinion, it's interesting that Volger's came out sounding more romantic. hmm... Anyway, reviews are love everybody, don't leave me hanging!**


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